Kept and Stored in Longing
by Kay the Cricketed
Summary: [onesided YuuriWolfram] A brief moment in the sunlight ruins everything, but despite that, Wolfram won't forget it. Sometimes you hold onto what you can and live with it.


_Kept and Stored in Longing_

By Kay

Disclaimer: I don't own KKM, it owns ME.

Author's Notes: One-sided Yuuri/Wolfram SLASH, but let's face it... nothing you'd be surprised over, yanno? XD No definite timeline, could be anywhere in the series or after it. Enjoy!

* * *

The first time they kiss, it's surprisingly unexpected.

The sunlight spills in through the windows into the bedroom, spreading across the white sheets and warming them, but Wolfram can't feel it. His breath comes in shaky, audible sounds, dragging oxygen into the bottom of his lungs. He hates being sick; it feels like there is never enough air. The covers are thin because he can't stand to feel anymore smothered than he already does, and a slick sheen of sweat beads across the skin of his collarbone peeking out from his nightgown.

Even Yuuri can't deny it's the most comfortable thing to wear in this situation. Summer heat, fevers, and thick pajamas would make for a wretched affair.

"You have to stay in bed for a while longer," Yuuri says, smiling as he places a new bowl of water on the nightstand next to a colorfully illustrated book Greta had come to read to her sick father earlier in the day. "But Grisela says you'll be back on your feet in no time." He doesn't add that "no time" technically qualifies as at least half a week even supposing the blonde Mazoku manages to miraculously cure himself overnight, and that Grisela has officially assigned him to make sure Wolfram doesn't do anything stupid until then.

Wolfram's glazed green eyes catch onto his briefly before sliding away-- he can't focus on anything at the moment. "You shouldn't let Greta come," he slurs, staring at the ceiling as Yuuri removes the wet, white washcloth carefully placed over his forehead. The king dumps it into the bowl of water, wringing it out firmly. Wolfram can hear the water sloshing over the sides. "She'll get sick," he finished, swallowing past the thickness of his tongue.

"She didn't stay long," Yuuri said, and sits down on the bed. The mattress dips and even though Wolfram wants to argue, he's too tired-- so instead, he sighs and closes his eyes, trying to enjoy the warmth sinking down next to his arm. Somehow, it's a different kind of heat than anything else-- if it's Yuuri, Wolfram can never bring himself to mind.

"Wimp," he mumbles.

"Don't call me that," the king says, and bends down so close that Wolfram can see his own flushed face reflected in the dark of Yuuri's eyes. His own green eyes widen, mind shutting down, and then Yuuri cautiously smooths down the mussed, tangled wisps of blonde that have fallen over his face. His hand feels like an iron brand on Wolfram's skin.

Yuuri sighs in relief. "You _do_ feel a little better than earlier--"

Wolfram kisses him.

It isn't hard. He always thought it would be, for some reason, but it's so ridiculously easy. All he has to do is catch his breath tightly, hold it up inside, and lean up those last and scant few inches to press his lips clumsily against the still-moving mouth of his fiancee. It feels like his heart will burst in his chest. Yuuri's lips are colder than his own. Less chapped. Smooth, worried slightly at the corner.

Yuuri doesn't move. He just sits there, frozen, mouth still slightly propped open as Wolfram lingers, pressing soft motions against this chin and the curve of his jaw when there is no response. Wolfram's eyes are closed because he doesn't think he can bear to see the expression on Yuuri's face right now. His heart is tight in his throat. He pretends it's because he's still feeling so sick.

When he's too exhausted to keep his head up any longer, Wolfram's head and shoulders fall limply against the bed once more, eyes still closed. He does not open them again. He stays there, breathing deeply with the flush of blood still dotting his cheeks from either fever or fervor, and waits until Yuuri slowly stands and steps away from the bed. The footsteps are extra loud as they leave the room.

It isn't anything like he always wanted. Instead of feeling happy, there's a miserable knot in the well of his stomach. An ache that won't go away. Sharp, dwelling, seeping and bleeding through him like a bleak ink.

_'Yuuri... you idiot.'_

Wolfram squeezes his eyes shut and curls into himself, seeking sleep where there will be none, feeling like he could die. The moment is swallowed by the next morning. They don't talk about it again, even after Wolfram is better and Yuuri thinks he understands and the sun doesn't feel like it's burning.

Wolfram stores it in the rest of his longing, a tiny flicker of _things not to be_ and _things I will never forget because they're of you_.

_End_


End file.
